


7 Days a Suitor (8 Nights a King)

by rhye



Series: 41 Nights [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Baby Names, Day At The Beach, Domesticity, F/M, Fluff, Food Sex, Geography, Idiots in Love, Jaime Lannister Lives, Knight Brienne of Tarth, Post-Canon, Pregnant Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 22:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19037242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhye/pseuds/rhye
Summary: Jaime and Brienne worked hard to get to the fluff, and they deserve every happiness. In the previous installment, Lord Selwyn gave Jaime seven days to prove he is good enough for Brienne. It takes Jaime less than two. The other five are just for fun.





	7 Days a Suitor (8 Nights a King)

**Author's Note:**

> Geography of Tarth loosely based on book sources, which also luckily loosely coincides with the island I spent the last two weeks exploring. Cookies if you know what island I was on by the minor references to similar geography. Also I teach meteorology and island/mountain meteorology is the coolest so oops there's some pretty accurate meteorology in here. I drew a freaking map of Tarth for this story, so one day we will have a Tarth road trip. It is known.

**NIGHT ONE**

They supped with Lord Selwyn in a small dining room rather than in Evenfall’s Great Hall. Jaime assumed this was customary, but it certainly did not help the awkwardness of the meal. Despite what he had told Brienne, he did nothing even a tiny bit scandalous. He was too afraid of setting back his own cause. He did not know Lord Selwyn well, and did not know what might sway or dissuade him. Jaime forced himself into a stony and stoic silence that fit him not.

He felt such relief to be back in Brienne’s rooms after dinner that he immediately pressed his mouth to the soft, hot skin of her neck and didn’t stop kissing her until she was moaning under his ministrations. They stripped each other and fell into the soft bed, the moon already shining through the high open latticework of Brienne’s window. He remembered seeing her in the moonlight in Winterfell, but the light stone walls of Evenfall Hall reflected the moonlight so that the entire room seemed to glow a pale white. He would not put his mouth on her womanhood again, not yet, not until he knew he could, but his hand had no such qualms. His mouth worked milk from her nipples while his fingers parted her folds. He moved his fingers, spreading her open. He had bent over her to get her other ripened breast when he felt the swift kick, through her belly, right to his chest. He laughed breathlessly, and so did she.

“I believe someone wants me to desist,” he said, eyebrow arching at Brienne.

“Not I, ser.” She was smiling bright, and it meant she trusted this. He still had fingers inside her and she was _smiling_ at him. Her smiles were so rare, so precious. He moved to kiss her joyful lips, and to take his weight off her belly. Her hand reached for his cock, and they rocked each other to completion this way. After, Jaime rose to wipe himself, and by the time he lay back down, Brienne was already asleep. He covered her with the blankets and watched her breath rise and fall in her chest. He felt like a king.

**DAY ONE**

At breakfast, Jaime tried to show interest in the island. He worried it may be the wrong tactic-- if he seemed too interested, would Lord Selwyn believe he had designs on the island? But in truth, Jaime hoped his own ignorance proved the opposite.

“My lord,” he asked across the table. “Besides the waters, and your irreproachable daughter of course, what is Tarth known for? I know you have marble. Are there other exports?”

Lord Selwyn cleared his throat. “The island is roughly divided into four districts. Here in the west, the weather is hot and the smallfolk raise goats for cheese and grow wheat and stonefruit. The northwest is even hotter, but home to some of the best fisheries on the island. The northeast is windward and wet, fertile with grasses, and that is where the cattle thrive. In the southeast, the rain rarely ceases, and there plantain and sugar cane grow best. The very southwest tip contains the marble quarry. We’ve this port here, and another on the southeast side of the island. There’s one road that goes around the entire island, and we go to great lengths to keep it in good repair.”

“What of the mountains, my lord?” In the center of Tarth rose a foreboding ridge line that cut the island down the center.

Lord Selwyn sighed. “Some few live in the uplands. There is a road that goes through the mountains but it is treacherous to cross. Mudslides are common on the windward side, rockslides on the leeward.”

Brienne cleared her throat.

Lord Selwyn seemed to grind his teeth together and then elaborate on this silent disagreement between father and daughter. “I have rarely been there, but Brienne used to make a habit of exploring the mountaintops and meeting the people there. She could probably tell you more of the mountains than I could.”

Jaime raised his eyebrow at his lady. “Once I was old enough to ride, I made a habit of exploring _everywhere_ on Tarth. When Ser Goodwin would give me leave, I would go for up to a fortnight at a time, with naught but my horse and pack.”

“How old were you?” Jaime asked.

“I started when I was two and ten.”

Jaime felt his jaw fall open. _Two and ten!? A child!_ Her father let her wander off on her own, and somehow she had remained a maiden until Jaime took his liberties in Winterfell?

Lord Selwyn seemed intent on justifying this. “She would wander back looking no worse for the wear and telling stories of caves and cliffs that almost made me jealous.”

Brienne said, “I needed to learn to keep myself alive in the wilds if I had any hope of being a true knight. We are lucky to have many climates and landscapes on this island. I considered it a part of my training.”

“A useful part,” Jaime added. “You certainly know the ways of the woods better than most knights errant. Perhaps…” he hesitated because he wasn’t sure this was a request Lord Selwyn would like, but he needed to ask anyway, “Perhaps when the children are older, you can show me this island of yours. The way _you_ know it.”

Her eyes sparkled unmistakably. “I should like that very much, ser.”

His answering smile was hopefully bright enough to be at least a little scandalous.

  

**NIGHT TWO**

He wanted to be inside her, but was afraid to let her be on top. That was what Cersei had wanted, and that was how Cersei had died. He tried it for a moment, but felt Cersei’s warm blood spilling onto him and froze. She scrambled off, guessing the problem.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I never should have allowed her to do that while you were under her. I know you loved her very much.”

His throat was tight when he answered her. “I’m sure she did it on purpose. For all the crimes I committed against the Starks, the little wolf deserved retribution. And it _was_ just. She had to watch those she loved suffer and bleed at my sister’s hands. At mine.”

“Nevertheless--”

“Nevertheless nothing.” He was tired of talking about Cersei and his erection was slipping away. “Turn on your side, Brienne. No, facing away from me. I want to be inside you.”

She was confused, and he found it endearing. They both lay on their right sides, and he lifted her left leg. From here he could effortlessly enter her with his cock, and reach her bud with his one hand. She gasped when she realized it, and he forcefully pulled them together. The bed rocked like a boat, and she came with a whimper that sounded nothing like a knight. In this bed, she was only a woman-- a maiden’s heart and a mother’s body, dripping milk and ripe with child and unlearned in the many ways a man could take a woman. When he finished, he held her, desperate to stay inside her as long as possible.

 

**DAY TWO**

Lord Selwyn let Brienne and Jaime sit in on a the matter of a cherry farmer who had caught the adult son of a highborn family in his trees, red faced, with handfuls of ripe cherries. The highborn son, an Aldo Fletcher, had accused the farmer of assault and demanded his arrest. Fletcher was a known liar, though. Lord Aldo seemed quite nervous, his pale green eyes shifting repeatedly to Jaime from behind a hank of sandy hair. Before anyone spoke, it was evident Lord Aldo was in the wrong.

Jaime was curious and eager to see how Lord Selwyn handled matters like this. Jaime’s own father’s decisions would have been informed by where power and loyalty lied, and had naught to do with cherries or with right and wrong. Likely, Lord Tywin would have sentenced the farmer to death in exchange for exacting some harried promise from Lord Aldo’s family. Jaime suspected that was not Lord Selwyn’s way.

Lord Selwyn listened carefully, and Brienne did as well, and Jaime found himself watching _their_ expressions far more than those of Lord Aldo or the cherry farmer or even the elder Lord Fletcher, who gave a pitiful plea on behalf of his son.

Finally, Lord Selwyn asked everyone to excuse them while he discussed the matter with his daughter and her betrothed. It was a naked test. He was going to ask them each what their decisions would be. Jaime would no doubt be first.

And so he was. When he was alone with Lord Selwyn and Brienne, Lord Selwyn turned to Jaime. “What would your father do with such a one, Lord Jaime?”

Jaime cleared his throat and answered. “My father cared little for justice and less for farmers. He would have the farmer put to death. Do not mistake his choice for my own, my lord.” Jaime felt Brienne’s eyes on him like a brand.

“What would yours be, then?” Lord Selwyn asked.

“My decision would be to defer to Ser Brienne.”

“Are you too much a craven to answer?” Lord Selwyn asked.

The jab was laughable. He had charged a dragon in the field once. “On the contrary, I am wise enough to know that I was raised for a cruelty the world needs not, and brave enough to trust the opinion of those who were raised better.” He thought he might be passing the test.

Lord Selwyn watched him a long while before turning to Brienne. “Dearest, what say you?”

She turned to Jaime. “My mind is made up on the matter, but I am curious what counsel my lord husband would give me if I should ask him.”

Jaime smiled. “My advice would be to tell you what my father would do, and advise you to do the opposite.”

Her face looked troubled. “Surely you don’t mean we should execute Lord Aldo.”

“Certainly not over a handful of cherries, though at his age I am left to wonder what else he may take that is not freely given him.” The man had a look with which Jaime was familiar-- highborn sons from low-ish houses who thought they were entitled to the riches of the world. Red Ronnet Connington came to mind unbidden.

“Your decision, daughter?” Lord Selwyn pressed.

Brienne nodded. “He should pay back what the cherries would have earned plus interest, as well as publicly admit his lie. It would do no good for the farmer to have money but lose his reputation.”

Of course Brienne would think of the farmer’s reputation.

“What if he refuses to admit wrongdoing?” Jaime asked. He thought it likely.

She frowned. “I might suggest the Night’s Watch, but it has been disbanded.”

“Over cherries?” Jaime asked.

“Over lying. He is spoiling the reputation of a hard working farmer for no reason. Over disobeying his liege lord, should he refuse to issue the apology.”

Lord Selwyn rubbed his bald head-- a nervous habit of his-- and nodded. “I suggest we give him the opportunity to apologize first, and if he fails in that, then we can discuss his further fate. I don’t wish to worry about eventualities that may not happen.”

“Father,” Brienne interjected, “surely we must always think of multiple eventualities.”

“In a war, yes. In cherries, it hardly seems necessary. Besides…” Lord Selwyn looked sideways at Jaime, “if Lord Jaime here could summon a little of Lord Tywin’s glower, I’m certain the boy will admit fault. He seems terrified of you, ser.”

“Father,” Brienne interjected, “we’re trying to make the island _like_ Jaime, not fear him.”

Jaime’s smile grew slowly, and he saw his own expression mirrored on Lord Selwyn’s face. “I think that is the plan,” Jaime said.

Lord Selwyn nodded. “Indeed, Lord Aldo seems a fool and hardly a friend to the smallfolk.”

Brienne’s eyes lit with understanding. “You think by threatening Lord Aldo, Jaime will win over the smallfolk?”

Lord Selwyn tilted his head. “Perhaps not all of them, but the farming community is close-knit, and should Lord Jaime make himself seem a friend to farmers, it is one sector captured for our cause.”

Jaime heard it. _Our cause._ Jaime had captured victory in less than two fulls days.

**NIGHT THREE**

After the audience, Jaime had approached the cherry farmer in secret, and when he and Brienne returned from supper, it was to find a large bowl of ripe red cherries in her rooms. She seemed truly startled by the surprise. He pushed her down onto the bed and fed her cherries until the juices ran down her neck and chin, and then he licked them off her. He ate one from each nipple, and he placed one at the lips to her cunt and licked it off without feeling even an echo of Cersei. He was still unwilling to see her atop him, especially now with red stains on her neck. He could not climb atop her without fear of crushing their child. So he put his handless wrist to her lower lips, the way he knew she liked in Winterfell, and she rode it to her completion.

He thought it a good end to their evening, but then his lady surprised him. She squeezed cherries onto his manhood and licked the juice off, one by one, until he spilled with a gasp onto the sheets. She laughed.

He held her in his arms. “You’re wicked, ser. To use cherries with such wanton abandon.”

She curled into his chest. “I can’t imagine where I learned such lascivious ways.”

 

**DAY THREE**

The next day was not very different, as they again heard petitions. Once he was wed to Brienne, Jaime was determined to spend as little time as possible hearing petitions. She was to be the heir to the Evenstar-- that was _her_ fate, not his.

It was clear already from the petitioners that news of his presence had spread, and given how many addressed their petitions to Jaime, the smallfolk already knew he was not some visiting lord. Many gave him cautious glances. Some spoke quietly. Others loudly, as though they might frighten him away as your would a bear. All had transparent hopes to impress the lion in their midst.

Meanwhile, Jaime spent the day lost in remembrance of what Brienne had done with the cherries. Once when Brienne glared at him, he whispered, “cherries,” and she blushed crimson all the way down her throat. It felt like a true accomplishment, and if the smallfolk thought he looked smug and self-satisfied, so be it.

 

**NIGHT FOUR**

That night, Jaime left marks on her, and goaded her until she did on him as well. Bites and purple bruises bloomed across her pale skin and his tanned hide. He made sure hers were hard to cover. He wanted everyone to see, and to know. He was done with secrets. They might not be married, but she carried his child. The secret was already out.

 

**DAY FOUR**

Jaime was elated when Brienne told him they would leave petitioners to her father. Instead, she wanted to ride with him-- roads only, she reminded him. He thought he had never been happier to get into a saddle.

He ran into his own troops in the courtyard. Lord Selwyn had assigned them to augment the castle guard, and they seemed none the worse for wear.

“Milord,” one asked, “are we to be here indefinitely, or---”

“Ask me in a week,” he told the lad. In truth, Jaime was not uncertain. He knew _he_ would be here until the end of his days, though of course he and his lady knight would travel too. When they wed, the court would come to Evenfall, and then the Lannister guards could choose whether to leave with Tyrion or stay at Evenfall.

When Brienne called for a mounting block to climb aboard her bay mare, Jaime raised an eyebrow.

“Oh shut up,” she snapped. “When you’re six moons with a child, you can make faces at me for using a block.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he grinned.

“You were thinking it.”

“I was _thinking_ that you best have a block kept here. I plan to keep you with child as often as possible.”

“I thought you were trying to prove to my father that you’re not a lecher.”

“Your father is not here. Which is good, ser, as your neck tells on me.”

She swiped her hand along the bite marks that lined the soft part of her neck, and tried to pull her short hair over it. Alas, he hair was too short and she failed. He laughed freely, and she spurred her horse out of the gate to get away from his teasing.

They rode, just the two of them, down into the city that flanked the port. “What do they call this city?” he asked Brienne.

Her smile was lovely. “Evenfall, for it sits on the west of the island.”

He had to admit it was a lovely name for the city, and fitting as well. As they rode through the streets, he saw a gray stone sept about the same size as Evenfall Hall, including the quarters it kept for the silent sisters. Birds circled the sept in a cacophony, nesting under its eaves. As they descended the hill to the port, the temperature increased noticeably, and by the time they reached the cove in which the port stood, the air was hot and still.

All through their ride, whispers flew through the streets, a sound like running water. They had turned down a side street, a market street lined with fruit and vegetable vendors, when he felt more than saw something coming towards him. His instincts took over and he dodged the projectile, only to turn and watch it hit Brienne.

The red blossomed over her jerkin, and the soft tomato slid to the ground at their feet. Jaime spun and spotted a man by a tomato cart. He was trying to slink away, but two others-- cart owners-- grabbed his arms. One called, “he’s here, my lord.”

Jaime wondered what the right response was, feeling this was another test. His father would have the man beheaded on the spot. What would Lord Selwyn do? What would Brienne do? And with that thought, he knew the right answer-- Brienne would do whatever she was about to do. She was right here, and could speak for herself.

Jaime turned to her. “Ser, these fine men have caught your assailant.”

Her eyes caught his, and she understood that he was deferring to her decision. She dismounted with as much grace as she had ever had. She approached the man who had thrown the tomato, towering over him.

“Your name, good man,” she asked of him.

“Eldin, m..my lady. Eldin Myrdock.”

“Eldin. I wonder why you decided to pass me an overripe tomato?”

“I… I wasn’t trying to hit you, my lady. I was trying to hit…” He realized his mistake midway through his sentence. Surely it would be better to admit to trying to hit Brienne than to trying to assault the Kingslayer in a street in broad daylight.

“Were you aiming for Lord Jaime?” she asked him.

To the man’s credit, he nodded before dropping his head.  
Brienne’s voice rose as high as her towering head, and the crowd hushed. “Lord Jaime Lannister is the father of my babe, the father of your heir. He has asked my father for my hand. An assault upon him is an assault upon me.” Her lips quirked. “In this case, quite literally. I will forgive you this time. This has not been announced, and perhaps you did not know. Perhaps you did not realize that if he were _not_ to be a member of my household, your assault would not have been on House Tarth but on _House Lannister_.”

The man’s chin trembled. Tywin’s shadow was large indeed.

Brienne nodded and turned back to her horse, and Jaime leapt from his. “A block! Someone bring me a block,” he called, his voice clear above the silent crowd. Only after the crowd gasped and moved back did he understand how his words had been taken. He did not care what the crowd thought. When he saw shock in his lady’s eyes, however, he felt angry. Did she think he would so callously subvert her authority?

A man handed him a fruit crate, and he looked up to see the familiar cherry farmer. His eyes were wide, but he did not look afraid. “Milord,” he said.

Jaime clapped the man on the shoulder, then took the box. He upturned it at the side of Brienne’s mare and wrapped his left hand around the reins, offering the gold one to help steady her. He saw in her eyes the moment she came to understand his meaning, and she took his hand as she stepped onto the crate and then mounted her horse. He handed the crate back to the cherry farmer and mounted his own horse. Silence followed them as they rode away, and Jaime looked back at the man who had thrown the tomato, only to see he had pissed himself in the street. He did not regret scaring the man.

His horse followed hers down the market street and out of town. The road widened. It was paved in fine gravel and finer sand. Once they were alone, only hardy grasses to either side of the road, she slowed her horse so they could ride side by side.

“Thank you,” Brienne said.

“For what?” he asked sincerely, supposing she meant for remembering that she used a block to mount today.

“For letting me handle that situation.”

Jaime laughed. “Don’t thank me for that.”

“But I am grateful--”

“Don’t be!”

“Why shouldn’t I be grateful?”

“Why _should_ you be?” He stopped his horse, and she followed suit. “This is your island, these are your people, you are a knight and their liege lady and you are _thanking_ me for letting you handle the situation? Who _else_ would handle the situation besides you?”

She hesitated, then cautiously said, “You have more experience than I--”

“Commanding men in the field, yes. Chastising smallfolk in the streets? No. I haven’t even been on this island a week in my entire life. It would be audacious of me to claim any authority.”

She tried to hide her smile.

“What?” he asked.

“The Gods know you would never do anything _audacious_.”

He laughed too, then. But in seriousness, he added. “I would never do anything to undermine you. And I know that you don’t believe me.”

“I do.”

“When I called for a block, you didn’t.”

She closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them, the crystal blue caught his eyes and she said simply, “I’m sorry.”

He had to accept that apology, because she should not be apologizing to him, not after he left her in Winterfell. Not ever. He nodded, and they both spurred their horses on.

“Does this road have a name?” He asked.

“It runs the circumference of the island. We call it the Belt Road.”

“Fitting,” he answered.

“One day, we should ride it. I would like for you to see the island, all of it. That would take at least a fortnight, and a harried one. A month would be better. Especially if you want to go into the mountains.”

“Your father made them sound most attractive,” he conceded, imagining a place full of Brienne’s secrets.

“There are five proper mountains on the island, and they are as varied as five sisters could ever be. The tallest two are desolate and hard to climb without switching out horses for mules or going on foot. The third highest is the one with a town on the top, in the forest, constantly shrouded in mist. There are a few other small towns in the high valleys.” She pointed up the hill. “Evenfall sits on the slope of the second-to-smallest mountain, called The Brown Hill.”

The Westerlands were larger, true, but sounded much duller by comparison.

“This is called The Coast of the First Men. The eastern coast we call it the Andal Coast, and to the South is the Myrish Shores. The people are the same, but the history is different.”

“It seems I may be in need of a Maester,” he laughed.

She did not. “Tarth has a rich and complex history as an intersection of multiple races, and the turning place of various wars. You would do well to learn it.”

He knew it to be true, but at the moment he felt far more invested in Tarth’s future than in its history.

 

**NIGHT FIVE**

Kelsa had a sick child at home and had to beg off work. Jaime and Brienne could have found another maid to watch Alys, but neither were inclined to trust a newcomer. Instead, they had Alys’s cradle moved to their room for the night. With the babe in the room, sex was off the table, but Jaime made due. While Alys slept, Jaime and Brienne debated names for their coming child. Both decided easily on Galladon if it was a boy. The girl’s names were far more vexing.

“I know you admired Catelyn Stark. I did to, for my part. But I don’t want to look at my daughter and think of Ned Stark every day of my life. And before you go on, I won’t name her Sansa, either. For the same reason.”

“Then what is wrong with Joanna?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I just don’t want everyone to see my sister in her.”

“ _This_ child will have none of your sister in her,” Brienne objected.

Jaime sighed. He could not explain himself well on this front. To name her Joanna would be to label her a Lannister. “I don’t want it,” he simply said.

“Perhaps Cercilia?” Brienne asked, and Jaime all but gasped until he saw that she was laughing at him. How had they come to a place where she could joke about Cersei? It was a new place, but not an uncomfortable one.

“Yes,” he added. “We should name her Cercilia Daenerys Night King Lannister. Glad we’ve agreed on a name, then. It will inspire love in the smallfolk of Tarth, no doubt.”

She slapped him playfully.

“What was your mother’s name?” Jaime asked.

Quietly, Brienne answered, “Elayne. Of House Linster.”

Jaime turned it in his mind. It was a simple name, but graceful. “Sworn to Blackgard?” he asked.

“Princess of Tarth,” she amended.

He smiled. “Princess of Tarth. Is that you, now, then?”

She did not reply.

“I’ve slept with a queen, but never a princess.”

“Do shut up.”

“I like Elayne, Princess of Tarth. She sounds beautiful.”

His hand rests casually on Brienne’s bare belly, and at this declaration, he receives a hard kick square in the palm.

“I hope it’s a boy,” Brienne confides.

“Why?”

“I want the heirship settled.”

“A girl can inherit. You will.”

“Only by my father’s decree--”

“Then you can decree it. If there’s one good thing my sister did with her life, it’s set the precedent of a the Queen Regnant.”

Alys gurgled, a sign that she was rising from slumber to nurse. Brienne rose to bring Alys into their bed, stating simply, “Two good things.”

Watching Alys nurse at the breast of Ser Brienne, Princess of Tarth, he had to agree. “Two good things.”

 

**DAY FIVE**

Jaime hoped they would ride again today, but one glance at Brienne’s heavily swollen ankles made him reconsider. He recalled something he once knew about Dorne-- that women there like to laze in the water gardens when their time grows near.

“Are there places to swim on Tarth?” he asks, and for his trouble receives a smile.

“My favorite beach is nearly a day’s ride away, so when I used to go, I always stayed overnight. It’s in Wavecrest Valley, and there are several inns there. I would like to show it to you, but I’m afraid being away for days will not help your cause with my father. I think it is the most beautiful beach in the world. There are also several closer by, rockier, but the water is no less blue.”

This time, he took his small guard, having learned a tomato-sized lesson from the day before. Just twenty minutes from the port at Evenfall, Brienne showed him a relatively secluded spot nestled in the trees. There were a few others there, parents with children splashing in the impossibly blue waters. Two seals watched lazily from a nearby rock. Several of the smallfolk whispered and moved away as their retinue moved onto the beach.

Brienne went in only to her ankles, and Jaime did not even approach the water, simply due to the fact that relacing his boots would take him an age, especially with smallfolk watching. But he did get the soles of his boots yet, and felt the warm water in his hand. He sat on a rock as Brienne laced her own boots back on.

“One day,” he said, “We should claim a beach for ourselves and swim. The children can play in the sand.” Jaime had not swam for pleasure since losing his hand. He wondered how it would affect him. His mind floated unbidden to his fantasy of Arthur and Galladon playing in the surf on Tarth. In his mind’s eye, the ocean had been the turbulent gray he’d known at Casterly Rock. Tarth was littered with peaceful bays and coves, and the water was nothing like sapphires; it put even jewels to shame with its translucent, glittering blueness. Each wave that rose up to meet the shore was a study in all the possible shades of aquamarine. _Like her eyes._

They rode back to Evenfall Hall, and he felt more content than he had in years. Once, he had wondered if he would be bored on this rock in the Narrow Sea, but now he saw that it would take a lifetime just to know its every stream and beach, and he had a lifetime to give.

 

**NIGHT SIX**

They went slowly, and he eased her on top of himself. She was unsure, and in truth so was he. He held her eyes, remembering constantly that she was not Cersei, and that Arya was far away at Storm’s End. He held her belly-- their babe-- with his hand and wrist as she rocked above him. She cried out loudly when she found her pleasure, and the sound undid him as well.

 

**DAY SIX**

After two blissful days exploring Evenfall with Brienne, he was not surprised that Lord Selwyn requested their presence in his solar on this day. Specifically, he wanted to go over the accounts of the island, the island’s lordships and holdings, and all manner or boring tross that Jaime would rather sleep through.

But stay awake he did. Brienne didn’t seem any more interested than he did. Jaime knew he needed to pay attention to these accounts, but Lord Selwyn was young enough and his death seemed only a remote possibility. Neither he nor Brienne had been made for book-keeping. His mind turned unbidden to the sword. Lords employed castellans and guards all the time. Why shouldn’t _they_ employ an accounts manager?

 

**NIGHT SEVEN**

They went out after dark, after the air had cooled and the castle was asleep, Kelsa keeping watch over Alys. They went to the training yard and fought with wooden swords until they were bathed in sweat. She beat him over and over again. Then she pushed him into the small armory, where she rode him hard. She held him down, her forearm across his throat and she thrust him deeper inside of her.

“Do you yield ser?” she panted over him.

Gods, he never felt so hard as when she overpowered him.

“I yield,” he hissed with the last of his air, and then he spilled in her.

She cried out, throwing her torso back, and he gulped in air as he felt her walls shiver around his softening cock.

Once they dressed as well as they could be bothered, they giggled like naughty children all the way back to bed.

 

**DAY SEVEN**

Jaime called on Lord Selwyn in his solar immediately after breaking his fast. Lord Selwyn did not seem at all surprised to see Jaime. The older man was scrawling something onto parchment. He gestured to the chair across from his desk, and Jaime sat, waiting for his chance to speak.

Finally, Lord Selwyn glanced up at Jaime. “Is there something I might do for you?”

Jaime felt like a young lad, not an old lion. He cleared his throat. “I would like to ask for the hand of your daughter in marriage.”

Lord Selwyn was silent a long while before he said, “What if I asked you to come back in another seven days?”

“Then I would.”

“What if I said no?”

That _did_ give Jaime pause. Was that a possibility? “I would want to hear from Brienne that she does not wish to marry. She would like to marry with your blessing. I would marry her without it, though. I have no honor to uphold, as everyone is so fond of reminding me.”

Lord Selwyn looked pained. “I have only known you a week, but you and my daughter seem well suited and happy. You have done nothing that I can see to bring her dishonor, other than putting a bastard in her. I heard about an incident in town, in which you allowed her to mete out peace in her own way. In hearing petitions, you were not always attentive, but when you did speak, you spoke with wisdom. I have seen you be nothing but gentle since you came here. I cannot fathom how to reconcile your reputation and the man before me.”

Jaime was asking to join this man’s household, his _family_ , so pretending to be the Jaime Lannister of his reputation would do him no good. “I admit at times I relied upon a fearful reputation. You saw with the cherry thief how easy it is for me to do so. So I do not mean to claim that I have no blame in my reputation being what it is. I certainly have not discouraged useful rumors...”

“But?”

“Many of my most outrageous acts have been misconstrued.”

“Did you not kill your king?”

“Let us not forget that he was called the _Mad_ King.” It was as close to an explanation as he was prepared to give Lord Selwyn.

“Did you not father four bastards on your own twin sister? And sit two of them on the Iron Throne?”

“My responsibility for that begins and ends in the bedchamber. I made them, but I no more fathered them than Rhaegar Targaryen fathered Jon Snow. I certainly did not crown them.”

“Have you no defense to give for getting your sister with child? _Four times?_ ”

“I loved her.” It was the only defense he knew, and it had the benefit of being true.

“You are shameless.”

“I am, my lord. It suits your daughter well. People have been trying to make her feel shame all her life for who she is. I’d like to see her overcome that impulse.”

Jaime was sure Lord Selwyn was playing with him a bit, like a cat with a mouse, but was it before eating him or letting him go free? Finally, Lord Selwyn leaned back in his chair and spoke.

“I loved my wife. I have met many women since, and each are fair in their way, but I have not married any of them. Even when Brienne begged me to remarry and father a new heir, I have not. Do you wonder why?”

“It is not my place to ask, my lord.”

“I loved Elayne. I truly did. More than all the rest combined. I see an echo of that when I look at you and my daughter. But more than that, I love Brienne. I want every happiness for her. I want her to make the rules she sees just and break the unjust ones. I want her to move through the world without apologizing for who she is. I want her to inherit this island, and her children after her. I will consent to giving you my daughter’s hand on one condition.”

“Name it.” Jaime would pay, whatever it was. Money, his other hand, anything.

“You will take the name Tarth and forsake the Lannister line.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Lord Selwyn smiled then. “Two conditions, perhaps.”

“The other?”

Lord Selwyn passed across the parchment he had been working on. Jaime saw that it was a list of names. “Brienne will want an intimate wedding. I sympathize with her, but I have only one child, who will have only one wedding. The island needs to rejoice, and the Kingdoms need more reasons for joy. The wedding will be large. We will invite the King and Queen and the heads of every Great House. I need you to take my side in the battle that is to come.”

Jaime felt himself smile as well. “I will take your side against my lady, though not because you ask it. She does not know she needs it, and may not ever understand why, but she needs the wedding she dreamed of before she was told she could not be a princess. And I need a wedding---” He paused. Then he spoke plainly. “I need a wedding.” It was the first time it had ever truly hit him. He felt it in the chest like a fire. He wanted everyone in the world to see him wed. He wanted to shout from every rooftop. He wanted a wedding and even a bedding, where everyone would know he was sleeping with a woman he had married in the light of the Seven. He wanted no part of any secrets or rumors. He wanted nothing less than to love in the sunlight.

Lord Selwyn passed over a blank parchment. “You should make your own list so I can see if I have left off anyone.”

Jaime accepted the paper and nearly skipped to the small library, eager to put his poor scratch to parchment and begin his list.

 

**NIGHT SEVEN**

He waited until they were both sated before telling her of the wedding plans. She sulked, as he expected, and tried to talk him around to her side, but he could not be budged.

“Why do you wish to torture me so?” She groaned, leaning her head back. “I will look a nightmare in a dress.”

Jaime smiled fondly. “I never said anything about a dress. I assumed you would wear your armor, as I will mine.”

“Your Lannister armor?” she asked.

“No, you’re right, that would be a poor choice. I’ll have new armor made.”

“You don’t care if your bride comes to the Sept in armor?”

He rolled his eyes. “As long as you don’t mind that your groom arrives with one hand. We are who we are, Brienne. We make tradition bend to _our_ whims, we don’t bend to it.”

She nodded. “It will be lovely to see Lady Sansa again. And Ser Podrick.”

The lad had taken a position in Tyrion’s household in King’s Landing. Jaime honestly hoped to woo him to Tarth, in part as a wedding present for Brienne and in part because he wanted his children surrounded by people he trusted with their lives.

She turned to him. “But no bedding,” she said sternly.

He rubbed his hand across her growing belly. “Good call. Gods forbid anyone get the crass idea in their heads that I might have bedded you.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, there _will_ be a bedding.” She began to interrupt but he spoke over her. “Don’t worry, no one will strip you out of your armor. It takes much too long anyway! But if we leave for a more intimate setting, we can be relieved of playing lord and lady.” He leaned over her provocatively. “We can _spar_ instead.”

She was not mollified. “Arranging this size of affair will be a nightmare.”

“You have to do none of it.”

“By the time it’s done, I will be in no position to _spar_. I doubt I could even walk to the Sept.”

He knows they will want to wed before the babe is born, preventing any threat to its legitimacy. They do have a harried time ahead, and a massive affair to arrange in a short time. And to think he feared boredom!

“You leave it to me,” he kissed her tenderly. “I will handle everything.”

“It’s going to be a bloody circus,” she complained.

“A royal circus, though,” he winked.

She almost smiled, but he saw the tension in her brow. The circus worried her. All the more reason that he had to do this right. At least Lord Selwyn would help, and the entire household could be bent to the task. He held her hand in his and promised to himself that he would not fuck this up. Even if it meant learning accounting, he would not fuck this up.


End file.
